Leftovers
by radishface
Summary: He blames it on superstition, hope, and a loyalty to the scientific method." Unabashed Dan-feeding-Ror fluff with a sliver of UST.


**Voracity Vetoing**

Watchmen → Dan, Ror (more gen than slash, although maybe a teeny bit of UST on Dan's part? :D)  
_Unabashed Dan-feeding-Ror fluff._  
A/N, My first captcha prompt attempt. Here it is.

**radishface**

[#]

Dan was supposed to be at Hollis' thirty minutes ago. He'd called Hollis to apologize for his lack of punctuality (he might be late, but never uncourteous), told him he was running late, and Hollis should start watching the game without him. The other man told him that there was no hurry, really, Dan could take his time.

It wasn't as if anything had really kept him from stepping out the door-- he even had his coat on-- there were just little things that needed to be done. Dishes that needed to be washed, garbage that needed taking out, him reading somewhere that lemon juice removed rust stains and trying it out on that particularly stubborn spot on the stair railing in the Owl's Nest, despite knowing perfectly well that it probably wouldn't work. He blames it on superstition, hope, a loyalty to the scientific method.

His stomach is grumbling a little, so he decides to reheat some leftovers. He'd made some tacos the other day. Taken the last of his canned beans and mashed them into a half-pulp, refrying them again until their juices leaked out and they regained some form, the burgundy lumps abandoned their rust and aluminum flavoring, congealing into something whole and full-bodied. Dan hadn't hesitated at the supermarket, stocking up on the works: a small pint of sour cream, fresh guacamole, tomatoes and onions and peppers and cilantro for the pico de gallo, shredded cheddar and mozzarella to top it all off, oozy and stringy delight.

All the leftovers now, recooking sullenly in the microwave, and Dan remembers that the colors were more vibrant the day he got them, bright splashes of red and green a welcome contrast to the washed out tones of his kitchen (he should get on repainting the walls, really, he'd put it off long enough), the sharp, peppery smell of cilantro rousing him from the half-stupor of life lived in an everyday way.

There's the sound of a lock being picked, the door unlatching open, footsteps shuffling and stopping. Dan's ears are already on high alert and the microwave has finished its job, beeping like a metronome and commandeering his feet out the kitchen in a flash.

"Rorschach," he says, and tries to sound surprised and not anything else.

"Daniel." A tense, wiry form under all those layers. "Was not--" Stops, tries again. "Was not aware you were home."

It's on the tip of Dan's tongue to say something inane like, _well, I was. Am._ but he just waits, expecting something about the locks, the security, how nice the weather's been, lately. Okay, not the last one.

Rorschach doesn't dignify his expectations with a response, but Dan can swear that the other man is glaring underneath that mask, inkblots shifting and bunching up between where the eyebrows would furrow, a small, black dot where the tip of the nose is, black swathes of ink spread over the area of the cheekbones. Embarrassment, desaturated.

"I don't have any more beans," Dan manages to say. "But I'm heating up some leftovers. They--er-- have beans in them."

"Wouldn't want to impose." Two steps back.

"No, no, I was just-- I was just on my way out." Dan smiles. A welcoming, Betty Crocker, Julia Child sort of smile. He tries his best. "Really. Was just going to take some food for the road. They'll go bad if I don't eat them soon. You're more than welcome to help yourself."

Adding separately, in his head, though without any hint of the annoyance that should be there, "like you already do."

"Should get a better lock," Rorschach is saying. "Be seeing you, Daniel."

And out the door, still swinging on its hinges.

[#]

When Daniel gets back home from Hollis' place, the leftovers are gone and there's a note in his pantry, where the beans used to be.

A lone can, there, Dan hasn't seen that before, and how did _that_ get in there ("same way the other things get out," his brain supplants helpfully), but there's a telltale slip of yellowed, greasy newspaper and the stark lines of a felt-tip marker,

_Should restock soon,_ it reads. _Indulgences unnecessary._

[#]


End file.
